Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Seeking Those Familiar Places When Times Are Tough

In my former life in journalism, I wrote a personal column that was printed in the newspaper each Friday. I tried not to skip too many weeks. Some of my columns were worth reading. Some, well, not so much.

Although I often dreamed of my columns being considered good enough to be compiled into a book, that never happened. But I did attempt to keep a collection of all my columns. I have a blue binder containing most of the ones I wrote during those more than two decades buying ink by the bucket.

Someone asked if I would share an old column here from time to time. Since some of them are like old friends and I enjoy "visiting" them, I will honor that request. This column ran in December 2002.

Human nature is a funny thing.

When life gets too intense, we tend to seek outfamiliarity.

Whether it’s a mother’s shoulder to cry on, agrandparents’ home to visit or just a plot of land inthe middle of nowhere, we can often find solace insimplicity.

Whenever life seems at its worst for me, I havefamiliar places where I gravitate.

When times got toughest as a student at MississippiUniversity for Women, I’d find myself at the “Jesusbench.”

Looking on a campus map, you’d never locate this spot.It’s not officially marked as the “Jesus bench” atall. It’s a simple, concrete bench - a gift from anearlier graduating class at The W - that was positionedon front campus almost directly across from the school’s BaptistStudent Union house.

Seeking direction often during that period in my life,I tended to walk around the beautiful campus.Sometimes the walks came during the day while othertimes I chose to walk at night. Many of the walks weresolitary ones, but often friends would join me as Itraipsed around that campus in the heart of downtown Columbus.

One of the more frequent co-walkers was Lynda Harris,my best friend at the time. Many times we ended up onfront campus with Lynda sitting at one end of the“Jesus bench” and me standing and/or pacing on whatwas left of the other. We’d debate theology, talkabout dreams and goals or discuss future plans we hadfor our lives. Since I was a senior and Lynda was asophomore, some of our talks centered on how weintended to remain in close contact after mygraduation.

Odd how some things don’t happen as you plan them.

Growing up in Corinth, I could always find completesolace on the front porch of Granny Hughes’ FranklinStreet home. No matter what mood I was in when I gotthere, life got better perched on the top step of thatporch.

One of my earliest tastes of freedom came when Ilearned to ride a bicycle. I started out with a smallblue bike that almost every one of my cousins and mysister used to perfect the bike-riding skill. Beingthe youngest, I got the bicycle when it was far fromits prime. But I loved it all the same.

One Christmas, I got a green three-speed bicycle thatupped my freedom greatly. The next summer, some of myneighbors and I began riding our bicycles around town.One of them owned a bicycle that had an odometer attached to his frontwheel and we found it was not unusual for us to cover60 or more miles in a day.

Much of my rides included trips across town to GrannyHughes’ house. Most of the time, I’d arrive at herhouse, store my bike under her side porch and letmyself in because she was always talking on the phonewhen I got there. It wasn’t until years later that Irealized Granny had stood at the door and watcheduntil she saw me peddling down the street and wouldthen phone Mama to let her know that her youngest hadsafely completed her journey.

My bike riding ended about the same time I got mydriver’s license - which upped my freedom of mobilitya great deal. Even though I could get further in theGremlin (aka Jose the Wonder Car) than I could on mybicycle, I’d find myself frequenting the same places.

Especially Granny’s front porch.

Mama, Aunt Peggy and Aunt Millie put Granny’s house onthe market shortly after her death in 1979. My parentsconsidered buying the house themselves, but I think mynegative reaction - given out of a heart broken fromgrief - was one of the deciding factors in notpurchasing it.

And though my home is filled to the brim withmemories, there are times today when I wish we’d madethat move across town.

In 1992, life as I knew it changed forever when Mamadied. A few Christmases later, I deeply missed thetradition of gathering on Franklin Street that ourfamily had followed for years. Depressed and dejected,I found myself once again being drawn to that frontporch. Knowing the owners, I felt quite confident thatthey wouldn’t mind if I spent some time on the stoopin an attempt to relieve my holiday blues.

As I sat there wishing I could have just one moreChristmas in the house, I didn’t realize that theowners were actually inside. Seeing me on the frontporch, and knowing what memories that home held forme, they came to the door and asked if I wanted tocome in for a visit.

It was probably the best Christmas present I’ve everreceived.

Even today, I find myself drawn to that home onFranklin Street when life deals its hardest blows. Idon’t stop and sit on the front porch as often as Ionce did. I’m trying to learn to suck it up and workit out on my own. Thankfully, though, I know thecouple who call the house their home today.

And I honestly think they will understand if, one day,they look out the window and see me sitting there.

1 comment:

Yay! I still have the binder you gave me... and I do hope that someday, you'll end up making a book out of it. But not before you add some more to it. Your perspective has changed... you look "up" a lot more and tend to look farther in the distance. There's a difference in what and how you write... and I like it. Oh, and ... I love you, Kim Jobe!